BeLoved
by Wammy's House Dropout
Summary: The Devil could be living in that boy...
1. the red-eyed Boy

Oh boy, I've been planning this out for ages!

Welcome to my random, fan-speculation into the life of Beyond Birthday, otherwise known as Rue Ryuuzaki! This guy fascinates me to no end, and he needs tons more love. -snuggles B-

This is entirely speculation on my part and should in no way be taken as canon (except for whatever parts really _are_ canon, I suppose...)

 **Death Note is the intellectual property of Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Death Note: Another Note was written by Nissio Issin.**

* * *

"...And the Petersons live in that apartment over there. Alana is a great woman, but her husband is the biggest deadbeat you're ever gonna meet! He just bums around all day, and I could swear he's cheating on the poor girl…"

Auvery Ayres was only half listening to her new, gossipy next-door neighbor, wondering to herself how she wound up on this impromptu tour of her new apartment complex.

She felt bad, leaving her husband alone to unpack their things, but Mary (some fifty-something fake blonde with an obnoxious laugh and something to say about everybody) refused to leave unless she got to show Auvery around. So here they were.

"-Old man Feltner lives in that apartment there. I think the military messed with his head, because he tells the most outrageous stories I've ever heard in my life! He's crazy as hell, but it's weirdly entertaining; he's worth listening to if you ever get bored. And by him are the Margraves. Poor things- four children in a two bedroom apartment! I don't know how they manage…"

 _I hope Marcus will be alright. This may take longer than I thought…_

" _..._ And _that_ house over there," Mary says, gesturing ominously to the lonely apartment at the end of the hall, "belongs to some odd foreign girl with the funniest name I've ever heard."

"Isn't that a bit rude to say?" Auvery can't help but ask.

"But it's _true!"_ Mary whines, in a voice more appropriate for a middle school girl than a middle-aged woman. "She's been an odd little duck from the day she moved in!"

Even though it feels a bit wrong to listen to this, Auvery's curiosity gets the better of her, so she pursues the topic further.

"How so?" She asks.

"Well, she showed up about eight months pregnant- no ring on her finger, either," Mary begins, tsking disapprovingly (how presumptuous of her). "She only brought one suitcase with her, too. "She comes and goes at all hours of the night- who knows what she _does_ for a living." (What was _that_ supposed to mean?) She begins to gesticulate wildly, becoming more animated with each word . "She barely speaks with the neighbors; mostly, she just keeps holed up in there like she's a ghost haunting the place. It's creepy! And that _son_ of hers-"

Her voice drops low.

"He never talks at all. He never plays with the other children, either. He just stays by his mother and stares at people- it's like he's never seen another human being before. But the weirdest part-" Mary's voice turns from conversational to a hushed whisper- "He's got red eyes."

"Red eyes? Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Mary replies, grimly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say the devil was living in that boy."

"That's enough!" Auvery snaps. "What a horrid thing to say about a child!"

Before Mary can get another word out, Auvery turns and slams the door to her new apartment, leaving the other woman dumbstruck in the hallway.

Her husband is at work reassembling their bookshelf. He raises his head to look at her, and catches the bewildered and angry expression on her face.

"I take it you had fun?" Marcus asked, with a sly little grin. Auvery can't help but smile back.

"She's a real treat," she says, shaking her head. "I don't know how we're gonna live with her."

The man shrugs.

"We'll get used to it, I suppose."

* * *

It had been a few days since they'd moved in, and Auvery's thoughts kept returning to that apartment at the end of the hall. She hadn't seen the woman or her child in that time.

Would it be weird to go introduce herself? Would the woman even want her company?

(Only one way to find out.)

Auvery takes two big slices from her fresh-baked shortcake and puts them on one of her favorite porcelain plate. She takes a deep breath and walks down to apartment two-eighteen.

-RYUUZAKI- occupied the nameplate below the apartment number. _I suppose it_ _ **is**_ _kind of a strange name._

After a moment's hesitation, she knocks.

A short, rather thin Japanese woman opens the door, dark eyes peering out of curtains of thick, black hair, stark against her pale skin.

"Hey there!" Auvery chirps, doing her damndest to sound casual and cheerful. "I'm Auvery- I, uh, just moved in next door. I thought I'd bring you something and come say hello."

The woman blinks in confusion. Auvery stammers over her words.

"It's great to meet you- I just wanted to let you know you could ask me or my husband if you ever need anything, alright?"

Slowly, a half-smile creeps onto the woman's pretty face.

"...Oh. Thank you."

Out of nowhere, a pallid little hand reaches to grab at the woman's jeans. A little nervous face peers out from behind his mother, gazing at her warily.

And, sure enough, just like Mary had said, the boy's eyes were red.

 _It must be a trick of the light. It has to be._

"What a darling little boy you have!" Auvery coos, kneeling down to the child's level. "What's your name, dear?"

The child blinks his crimson eyes, but says nothing, only sucking his thumb and staring. The boy's mother smiles down at him and pets his charcoal gray hair lovingly.

"Rue," She says, softly. "His name is Rue." (Alright, so _that_ one really _is_ a strange name.)

"Oh! What an...interesting name! How old are you, Rue?"

The boy, again, doesn't speak. His wide eyes are focused- not on Auvery, but rather, at some indistinct point just above her head.

"He'll be four years old on Halloween." His mother replies.

"What a fun birthday!"

The boy's mother picks him up and rests him on her hip, holding him close.

"You'll have to forgive him. Rue is nervous around strangers."

"That's fine," Auvery insists, getting up off the floor and maintaining her smile. "I had two children myself, so I know how they can be."

Before the woman can reply, Rue's face lights up. He raises a chubby little hand to gesture toward the strawberries lining the top of the cake. The woman lets out a lilting laugh.

"Would you like to come in? I'm making tea."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

The woman leads Auvery inside, past a little Shinto shrine and a table littered with half-completed drawings. Finished works lined the walls- odd and frightening pictures of monstrosities it seems humans shouldn't be able to dream up.

"It's-um- lovely to be in here, um-"

"Kukyo," The woman offers. "Kukyo Ryuuzaki."

 _That's a weird name too...like mother like son, I suppose._

Kukyo sets her son up on the floor with crayons, paper, and his share of the strawberry shortcake, while she goes into the tiny kitchen to pour out the tea. The boy carefully sets the strawberries aside for last, takes a big bite of the cake, then grabs a red crayon and starts to draw on the blank sheet of paper.

The two women make pleasant small talk about nothing for awhile, and this woman seems almost normal. Other than the red skull necklace resting on her throat, she seemed much like any single mother raising a child in Los Angeles.

"You seem very talented," Auvery mentions, gesturing to the pictures scattered around. "Are you a professional?"

A nod.

"I'm lucky I'm able to support us with my art," She says, with another one of those small smiles. "It lets me stay home with Rue. I could be working for hours, and he'll just sit and draw with me. It isn't bad, really."

"He's certainly a well-behaved kid," Auvery says. "But he's so quiet."

"He is," Kukyo agrees. "He's like his father that way."

The next words leave Auvery's mouth before she can stop them.

"If you don't mind me asking, where is his father?"

Kukyo's eyes cloud over, and her face goes dark. She instantly knows she's said something very wrong.

"...His father is gone." She says, so quiet Auvery almost couldn't hear it.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't…"

Kukyo shakes her head, letting out a heavy sigh. Her shoulders slump as if the weight of the world had been laid upon her back.

"It's alright," she says sadly. "You couldn't have known."

An awkward silence passes for five painful minutes. All the while, Rue continues to alternate between munching on cake and scribbling furiously on the paper, oblivious to the tense atmosphere around him.

"...My family didn't like the way things were between his father and I," Kukyo admits, a bit sheepishly. "And when I found out I was pregnant, I knew they would never accept it. I had to get somewhere we could live in peace. I want Rue to grow up without being hated."

She gazes wistfully at her child.

"He's all I have left. I have to keep him safe."

Auvery feels an acute pain in her heart. This poor woman was all alone in the world. Away from her family, without any friends to speak of.

Alone except for her strange little red-eyed boy.

The melancholy smile returns to Kukyo's face.

"It's funny. I've been here for years, and you're the first person to ever ask me that."

A joyless laugh bubbles from her lips.

"Hell- I think you're the first person to ever even bother to knock at our door. I suppose most people just don't want to know."

Auvery puts a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, perhaps hoping to channel some kind of maternal comfort into the sad, lonely girl.

"Just remember that Marcus and I will always be around to help you out. If you ever need a babysitter, Rue is more than welcome at our home."

"Thank you," Kukyo says. "I appreciate that."

Kukyo stands to escort Auvery to the door, walking past Rue on the way. Auvery glances at the paper the child has been so intent on for the past half hour, and freezes in her tracks.

He'd written out a series of spiky letters and numbers, all in red.

 _ **Auvery Marquess**_

 _ **366059**_

* * *

Kukyo locks the apartment door behind her unexpected guest, and lets out a relieved little sigh, resting her head on the creaky wooden door.

Even though the kindness extended to her was a welcome surprise, the anxiety of having to actually _talk_ to people was almost too much for her to bear.

"Is she our friend now, Mama?" Rue asks, popping the last strawberry into his mouth.

"...I don't know, dear." She replies, turning to join her son on the floor.

"Another one of those?" She asks, picking up her son's latest piece. Rue nods, gnawing absentmindedly on his thumbnail.

"Mama- what do the numbers mean?"

Kukyo beams at her son and kisses his forehead lovingly.

"You'll understand it when you're older, babydoll. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Rue pouts, but he doesn't argue with his mother. Kukyo adds the paper to a drawer that was rapidly filling with others like it.

Though she hasn't seen it in months, her own is in there, as well. She remembers it vividly, as it was the first one her son ever drew.

 _ **Ryuuzaki Kukyo, 20097**_

That had been about a year and a half ago; before Rue understood how letters spelled words.

" _What is this?"_ She had asked. Rue had only pointed to some point above his mother's head.

And that was when she knew that Rue had inherited more than his father's eye color.

She renewed her vow, that day, to protect her child. Her lover's child.

Her special little boy. A one-of-a-kind child, occupying the worlds of both life and death. A truly unique boy born into a world of suffocating sameness. The reminder of those precious, happy moments with her lover, before cruel fate took him from her arms forever. Her reason to be. Her reason to stay in this boring, lonely little world.

Her little Rue.


	2. numBers

So this chapter is a bit shorter than my usual, but I wanted to publish at least something before finals started and I completely lost my mind ;-;

P.S: Please PM me if you have any tips on functioning on less than three hours of sleep. Hell knows I need it...

* * *

Rue started school with the other children at five years old, and at first things were almost normal. He even seemed to be enjoying it.

All that changed, however, about three days in. Kukyo received a frantic call from a bewildered teacher, insisting she come to fetch her child. In the background, Kukyo can hear other kids chattering eagerly.

"He had a complete meltdown," she says, alarmingly close to breaking down herself. "He's locked himself in the supply closet and he won't come out- you should've heard how loud he was _screaming!_ I just don't know what to do!"

Kukyo rushes down to his classroom, arriving out of breath and thoroughly flustered. The teacher leads her to the closet, covered in cheerful drawings and paper cutouts. The children stare at her intently, wondering what on earth she was going to do. Through the door, she can hear a faint, but distinct sobbing.

"Honey?" She calls, kneeling in front of the closet door and pressing a hand against it. "It's mama."

There is no answer, but the sobbing goes quiet.

"Sweetheart, please tell mama what's going on. I wanna help."

"...There's too many, mama…"

Kukyo leans into the door to hear him better.

"Too many what?"

"The numbers, mama." Rue whimpers.

The teacher furrows her brow, confused. But to the child's mother, everything suddenly makes sense.

"No matter where I look, no matter what I do...they're all over...They're everywhere and they don't make any sense...Mama, what do they _mean_?!"

"Oh, babydoll," Kukyo murmurs softly. "It's gonna be alright. Here- close your eyes and come out- we'll go home, okay? They won't bother you there."

After a few moment's hesitation, the closet door opens. Rue latches onto his mother and buries his face in her shoulder. Kukyo hugs him close to her and takes him past the prying eyes of his classmates and teachers. She carries him all the way home, while he keeps his eyes shut tight so he doesn't have to look at people.

"I'm sorry mama." He whimpers.

"You don't have to be. It's alright."

Kukyo strokes his back to soothe his shaking.

"Your father saw them too, you know."

Rue opens his eyes and looks at his mother.

"He did? How?!"

Kukyo taps him on the nose and smiles warmly.

"Your father was very special, Rue- not like anybody else on Earth. He gave his eyes to you as a gift before he died."

"...Did he tell you what all the numbers mean?" Rue asks eagerly.

"He did."

Rue tugs at his mother's shirt and whines.

"What are they, mom?!"

Kukyo sighs. She supposes she couldn't avoid the topic forever.

"It shows people's lives, Rue."

Rue furrows his little brow and cocks his head.

"Life? What does that mean?"

"How long you've got," Kukyo responds, hoping that the revelation wouldn't frighten her child. Rue seems to take it well enough, however, as he smiles.

"Oh! So I get to see how long people live, and nobody else can? That's cool!"

Kukyo laughs. Her little boy was so odd sometimes.

Like his father...

* * *

Kukyo quietly withdraws her child from school, opting instead to teach him from home. He does very well that way, eagerly learning whatever his mother had planned for the day.

In his spare time, he sits on the floor beside his mother, using countless pieces of paper to unravel what seemed to be the world's trickiest math problem. streams of numbers and scratched-out calculations that even Kukyo couldn't understand. He'd watch television or look out their apartment window, then return to the paper on the floor to add still more numbers to his ever-growing obsession. He occasionally watched the news (an odd habit for a child), particularly during missing persons or murder cases.

"She's not alive anymore, Mama." She recalls him saying one day, when the news announces the continuing search for a missing child. "Her numbers disappeared."

It was an odd hobby, to be sure. But that was okay, so long as her son was content and occupied.

One day, however, Rue simply stopped writing. He became even more desperate and clingy toward his mother, and constantly staring at the numbers floating above her head. He doesn't sleep very well at night, and when he does he often wakes crying. Kukyo doesn't know what to do…

What was troubling him? Why didn't Rue say anything to her? What can she possibly do for her child? It pains her, but she has to let it be, and hope that it's merely another manifestation of Rue's eccentric nature.

There's nothing else that can be done.

Auvery is surprised when Kukyo knocks on her door one Saturday, looking a bit haggard. Normally Kukyo invites her over to her own apartment when she wants to chat.

"Oh, hello dear! Come on in- what can I do for you?"

Kukyo follows her into the dining room, where Auvery makes them booth coffee.

"I was hoping I could ask a rather big favor of you," Kukyo says, staring into the depths of her coffee as if she wished to drown in it.

"What is it?" Auvery asks.

"I received an invitation to attend an art exposé in Seattle for the next three days. It would be great for my career, but-" she wraps her hands around the coffee mug and sighs. "-I don't feel right about taking Rue with me. He's so nervous around strangers, and I don't know how he'd cope being so far away from home. He'd be better off if he stayed here in LA. I was wondering if there was any chance you could take Rue until Sunday?"

Auvery regards the younger woman with mild surprise. This was a rather out of the blue request, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Huh? O-of course! I'd be happy to!"

"I'll pay you, of course." Kukyo says.

"Not at all! It'll be my pleasure! It'll be great to have a kid around the house again!"

"If you're sure it'll be no trouble…"

"Of course not! Rue is such a good boy I bet we'll hardly even notice he's here!"

Kukyo closes her eyes and smiles.

"You're you so much.

"You be good, sweetheart. I'll see you Sunday night, okay?"

The child blinks back tears and clings onto his mother.

"Please don't leave," he whimpers. "Mama, please don't…"

Kukyo kisses her son's forehead and ruffles his messy gray hair.

"I'll only be gone three days. It's going to be alright, honey."

"But mom-"

Kukyo hushes him gently.

"Everything will be okay. Just be patient. I love you very much."

Rue tries to put on a brave face when his mother bids him that last farewell and departs for Seattle.

 _I'm never gonna see Mama again…_

"Your mom told me you like art, Rue. Would you like to sit and color for awhile?"

Rue accepts the offer docilely, and whiles away the afternoon idly coloring at the coffee table in the living room. He feels so helpless it makes his chest ache.

Auvery's husband returns from work at six-fifteen, just like always. He greets his wife with a warm hug and a kiss, and settles on the couch with a newspaper and a can of cola. After a few minutes, he glances over at Rue, who is still silently coloring.

"Quiet little guy, isn't he?" He muses.

"Oh, he's just a little shy. There's no shame in being an introvert, you know."

 _Marcus Ayres- 367953_

He grabs his red crayon and starts to scratch some numbers out.

"Hey, what're ya doin?"

Rue only shrugs and continues with his task.

He wonders if maybe his calculation was off...maybe if he tests it out a little better…

...no. His numbers still work out the same.

Damn it…

He doesn't eat dinner that night. There isn't any reason to, and he's far too nauseous anyway.

Three more hours...just three more hours…

Rue spends the night on a blow-up mattress in the living room, tossing around and unable to find sleep.

Mama should be dead by now. He wonders what happened.

And why he isn't crying? His mom is dead- shouldn't he be sad?

Didn't normal people cry when bad things happened?

Maybe there's something wrong with his brain.

Morning comes, and Marcus gets up to leave for work. Auvery makes pancakes and scrambled eggs for Rue, but he still doesn't feel much like eating.

Auvery turns on the news while she wraps up the cooking and straightens up the kitchen.

" _...The train was en route to Seattle, Washington, when a sudden blast derailed it, causing the train to crash, killing everyone on board."_

Rue turns his attention toward the television, feeling his heart sink.

" _One of the victims has been confirmed to be twenty-four-year-old Kukyo Ryuuzaki, youngest daughter of Japanese business tycoon Mashiro Ryuuzaki-"_

"Mama…"

"Oh my god…"

Auvery is stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the television with a look of dumbstruck shock.

"Rue- I'm so sorry-"

The boy doesn't say a single word.


	3. L LawLiet

**So I finally found the energy to write a new chapter for this story. Sorry about the wait D:**

* * *

"-Worry about who I am later! I'm trying to tell you I've got a little boy here who's just lost his mother and he needs help _now_!"

Rue feels numb. He thought he would cry when his mother died...but it seems he has no tears left to shed. Rather, a gaping hollowness has opened up inside him, collapsing everything he used to be into the growing chasm.

Curled up in a lonely corner, he stares off into some point in space, rocking gently like mama used to do for him.

Mama is gone now. Gone forever and she's never coming back.

So why can't he cry about it?

"...Kukyo Ryuuzaki's son, yeah. The one who died in the train crash...he's almost seven...He hasn't said anything since he heard about it. Wait-"

She's silent for a long while, as if she'd suddenly been put on hold.

Then, finally…

"...What do you mean, you want to take him? What do you want with him?! Who are you?"

A shadow falls over her face while she listens to what the other person is saying. Her free hand clenches and unclenches anxiously.

...I understand. I'll keep him until you get here."

The words swim in Rue's head, but don't really register. Why should they? He didn't care much to stay here, anyway.

Auvery finally gets off the phone and walks cautiously over to Rue, kneeling down to be closer to his level.

"Hon...it's gonna be alright." She tries to reassure him.

He fixes her with a piercing stare, scarlet eyes boring into her own and greatly unnerving her. There is absolutely no emotion behind those eyes…

"So I'm leaving?"

"...That's what it looks like."

Rue casts Auvery a forlorn look, and makes a sad sound, though his eyes remain dry. Auvery kneels down to his leven and sighs.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Rue shakes his head and doesn't say anything more.

They wait in a painful silence for a few hours. Marcus returns from work early to hug and comfort his wife. Finally, a knock comes at the door, an elderly man in a dark suit waiting out in the hallway.

Things start blending into each other after that. He's spoken to for awhile, though Rue can't remember what was said,. or if he even responded to it. He's lead out of the building and into a shiny black car, and there's a small eternity of simply sitting there and listening to the engine purr while he stared blankly at the upholstery.

He only hopes that Mama didn't feel any pain before she died.

He doesn't voice these thoughts aloud, however. He merely stands there and trembles, unsure of how he _should_ be reacting.

The man asks him a series of questions he can't remember, and he answers them with another string of words he can't remember. The old man talks to somebody on the phone for awhile, while Rue sits quietly and waits to hear his fate.

He is ushered into a hotel and into an elevator, and Rue has to wonder why Auvery would hand him off so easily. Did she really care so little about him? Did she honestly feel okay about handing him off to some old guy? He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't afraid.

The old man brings him into a hotel room tucked up on the highest floor of the building. Rue catches the smell of coffee and bread and something sweet.

"Wait here." The man says, and exits the room once again, locking the door behind him.

 _Why is he locking me in?_

He glances around the hotel room. It's rather nice, and the couches and chairs are covered in cushions that remind him vaguely of marshmallows. He wanders out of the main room and into the small kitchen tucked into a corner of the penthouse suite.

His heart skips a beat in fright when he sees that he isn't alone.

The boy in the kitchen looks to be around thirteen or fourteen years old. He's all sharp corners and gangly limbs, with collarbones so prominent they might burst clean through his pallid skin. He's clothed in a plain white shirt and jeans that hung off his wiry frame like bunches of loose skin. Messy hair frames his thin face, thick and inky, dark and tangled.

The boy is taller than average, but it's hard to tell at first; he's perpetually hunched over, as if a great weight were draped across his delicate shoulders.

To Rue, however, the thing that sticks out the most is his eyes.

The boy's eyes are far too wide for his face. Deep circles under them make them seem larger still, so awful they look like bruises. It seemed as though this odd looking boy hadn't slept a minute in his entire life.

And their _color._

Those eyes are black as midnight. Black as pitch. So black Rue finds himself wondering if maybe he's found the darkest things in the world. They held no shine or spark of life, either, as if he were a walking corpse.

As pale as he was, it wouldn't be surprising.

The words _L Lawliet_ dance above his head in skinny red letters, the numbers floating beneath them like a sinister marquis.

The older boy doesn't seem to realize he's entered at first. Instead, he is intent on the two thick slices of fluffy white bread on the counter in front of him, which he is smothering in a generous layer of cream cheese and positively drowning in strawberry jam. Every few seconds, those eyes dart between a fleet of scattered papers strewn beside the bread and a mug of coffee.

Rue stands there silent, not daring to do anything to break the older boy's concentration. The minute or so that passes feels like an eternity.

"Well?"

Rue jumps a good foot in the air, his heart jackhammering inside him.

Those eerie black eyes finally look at him.

"How long are you going to stand there without saying anything? That's pretty rude, you know."

The teenager's voice is startlingly deep. He continues to look Rue up and down intently, licking stray jam and cream cheese from his long, spindly fingers while he did. The thick red jam dripping from his pale mouth makes him look like a vampire.

"You must be Rue. I was told you were coming."

"...Wh-Who are you?" Rue finally squeaks out, his throat filled with sand and apprehension (Mama said it was best to ask someone's name before you said it out loud).

"Call me L."

"What sort of a name is L?"

"I could ask the same of you, Rue Ryuuzaki." The teenager says, with a shrug of his scrawny shoulders.

Fair point. Rue falls silent again.

"I've heard tell you're pretty smart. Is that true?"

The smaller boy blinks, furrowing his brow at the older boy as he takes a long drink from the coffee mug.

"...I suppose I am?" He finally answers.

L cocks his head and observes Rue for another eternity.

"I've heard what happened to your mother." He finally says. "I'm very sorry."

A lump swells in Rue's throat, and he feels tears sting his eyes like a hundred angry little bees.

"I don't mean to upset you any further," the teenager continues, seeming to be oblivious to his distress, "But I have reason to suspect that her death wasn't an accident."

Rue's stomach does a few backflips before tying itself into a knot.

"...Murdered? My mama, murdered?"

L nods once, shuffling to clean up the mess he made of the countertop.

"Is there anyone you know that would have wanted to hurt your mother?"

He asks this as if he knows the answer already, but is testing the younger boy for one reason or another.

Rue ponders the question.

"...My mama used to live in Japan." He recalls, reaching his hand up to bite at his thumbnail. L copies the gesture, looking deep in thought.

"She said that she left because of her dad, I think. I'm not really sure who it is, but sometimes I hear the name Ryuuzaki on the news, so he must be someone important, right?"

"That's very observant of you." L says with an approving nod. "Your grandfather is the head of a very powerful Japanese corporation. Word on the street seems to be your mother got into a bit of trouble with him and left the country for the safety of both of you."

"Why would he want to hurt my mama though?"

"I wouldn't have a clue as to his motivation." L says with another shrug, wiping away the last of the smudges on the countertop. His sleeve rides up his skinny arm (his wrists are so bony…) "Other than he simply wanted your mother gone."

"...That's awful…"

Rue chokes, and, finally, he begins to cry. He sinks down onto his knees and lets out a pitiful wail, shaking all over. L flinches, fidgeting uncomfortably and waiting silently for the younger boy to quiet down. When the boy's sobs have died down to quiet little whimpers, L takes the two slices of bread and walks over to him, crouching down so they could see eye to eye.

"Hey."

The tears in Rue's eyes turn L into a multi-colored smudge. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, and the world comes back into focus.

L holds out one of the gargantuan slices of bread. His dead eyes have the smallest hint of pity within them.

"It's going to be alright."

Rue frowns deeper, staring at the bread.

L's thin lip curl into a small smile. It brings some life into his face; there's something disarming and friendly about it.

"I'll make sure the one who killed your mother will be brought to justice. I promise."

Rue's vision begins to blur again, but he blinks the tears away.

"...Thank you…"

"Now," L says briskly, shoving the bread into Rue's hands, "eat. You'll feel better."

Rue can barely fit the enormous slice of sugary bread into his mouth to take a bite. The creamy taste of the cheese and the sweet of the strawberries is oddly comforting. He devours the rest of the slice, finally realizing how ravenous he is. L gets up and nibbles on his own slice while he goes over whatever is on those papers. Rue stays seated on the floor and watches him.

After awhile, the old man returns with yet more papers and a briefcase he hadn't had before.

"Oh, Watari. Good. Did you find what I needed?"

"Yes." The man replies, handing the folder of papers over to him. L takes it delicately by the very tips of his fingers, leaving through them intently.

"Wonderful. I believe we can have the matter resolved within the week."

"And what about Rue?" Watari asks, almost tentatively.

L looks over at the boy and smiles that comforting smile again.

"I think he'll be a perfect fit."

"For what?" Rue asks, scuttling onto his feet, perking up in curiosity.

"For a special school of ours." L says. "If you'd like to go, of course."

Rue thinks for a moment, biting at his nails.

He can't go back to that building, even if Auvery would take him back. If he did, he'd have to go back to that school where he had been so very miserable, and face the place where he parted ways with his mother...

"I'll go." He answers.

"Excellent. We'll get you all sorted out and we'll leave for England as soon as we've finished things here."

England…

That's pretty far from here.

* * *

"You're still awake?"

L glances at B, the glow from his computer casting his face in an eerie blue light. His brow knits in what was either concern or confusion.

Rue nods, and sits himself down on the floor beside L. He points at the screen, silently asking what he's doing.

"I've gathered up every file that exists about you in any database in the entire world." L answers, spider-like fingers gliding across the keys he knew intimately."I'll have to deal with the paper trail you've left later, but that shouldn't be too difficult at all."

"Huh?"

L finishes entering a command into the computer, hits a key, and the screen goes blank.

"For all intents and purposes, Rue Ryuuzaki has now died."

Before Rue can say anything, the screen fills back up, but the pages on display are different.

 _Date of Death, May 14th, 1993_

"But why…?!"

L cracks his knuckles and grabs himself a strand of licorice, gnawing at it while he surveys his work.

"It will all make sense later, trust me." He assures the younger boy. "But I'm afraid you won't be 'Rue Ryuuzaki' from today on."

"...Then what am I now?"

L gives another little smile and ruffles the younger boy's already messy hair.

"B."

"Eh?!"

Rue's cheeks go red with outrage.

"Why do I hafta be just one letter like you?!" He pouts.

"It'll make sense later." L repeats, unwrapping a lemon lollipop and popping it into his mouth. "Please don't be so loud."

L closes out his program and goes to work on other things. B sits beside him and watches for awhile, keen on what he was doing. He'd only seen a computer a handful of times before, and never gotten the chance to ever use one, so it fascinated him greatly, especially seeing as L seemed to be so proficient at it.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he wakes up to daylight.


	4. A Bell

**Now I've finally got the setup out of the way, I can finally get the actual plot going. Thanks for sticking around :D**

 **Everyone say hello to A in this chapter :3**

* * *

B wakes up tucked into one of the massive hotel beds, bleary-eyed and still exhausted.

When had he fallen asleep last night?

He sits up and looks around the room, listening to the muffled activity just beyond the closed door. After what feels like hours of simply sitting and listening, he half-rolls, half-falls out of bed and stumbles out of the room.

L is reading off one of his never ending stream of papers, pacing around the room as if he were nervous about something. He seems to have forgotten to put a shirt on, and his hair is still dripping wet from what B assumes the shower he's just taken. L is so bony B can easily count his ribs from across the room (where does he keep all the sweets he keeps eating?!).

B clears his throat, causing L to glance up over the sheet and acknowledge him.

"Oh, good- you're awake."

B nods.

"We'll be leaving in a few hours, if that's okay with you." L says, returning to his pacing and reading. "I got you some clothes to change into as well, if you want."

Watari appears (seemingly out of nowhere) and slips some frosted pastry into L's free hand. The boy stops to take a bite, and Watari takes the opportunity to take a towel to his soaked hair. B cocks his head and gnaws on his thumbnail while he watches. He wonders if L is so used to being catered to that he couldn't be bothered to dry his own hair, or if he was merely so absentminded he had forgotten all about it.

B wanders off into the kitchen and pulls one of the pastries out of the white box on the counter. It's a flaky, lemon-flavored thing with a strawberry jelly filling, and so sweet he almost feels himself get a cavity from one bite. He eats it quietly and listens to the other two talk.

"Have the arrests been made?" L asks.

"They have."

"And none of his relatives are asking about him?"

(They're talking about B?)

"None of them have any interest whatsoever." Watari replies. "They're quite happy to pretend he never existed at all."

B frowns. He shouldn't feel surprised that nobody else wants him, and he isn't; however, he's still a little hurt.

"Very good. I'm looking forward to seeing how he and A get along."

B's brow knits together as he absentmindedly licks the frosting off his fingers.

L did say he was going to a school, after all. He shouldn't be surprised, but he couldn't help but feel just a bit less special.

"Do you want some coffee?"

B jumps and bites his fingertip in surprise. L laughs a bit and offers the mug in his hand. B stares at it like it's an alien being- mama had never allowed him to drink the stuff.

He takes hold of the mug and takes a cautious sip. The sweetness of it is cut by an overpowering bitterness that almost makes him spit it out. He pulls a disgusted face, and L laughs again, taking the mug back.

"I suppose it's a bit of an acquired taste," he muses, still smiling. B scowls and grabs another pastry to wash the godawful taste out of his mouth.

"You should wash up and get changed- we're leaving soon, remember?" L reminds him, sitting at the table and powering up his laptop. B cocks his head.

He's only now noticing just how oddly L sat- and how very similar it is to how B himself sits. He wonders if crouching was more comfortable for him or if he was merely being odd on purpose.

Heaven only knew, he supposed.

* * *

B stares in awe at the enormous wrought-iron gates separating him from the imposing building in front of him. Unconsciously, he grabs onto the hem of L's shirt, his breath catching halfway up his throat. The gold placard on the gate announces the name of his new home.

 _Wammy's House_

Is that the name of a children's school or a sanitarium?

Watari unlocks the gates, and they shriek in protest as they open.

B keeps his grip on L's shirt as they cross the grassy courtyard together; his view of the steel-gray sky is blocked by a canopy of ancient trees. They pause for a moment in front of the huge oak doors before entering the building.

B's jaw drops open.

Wammy's House is lined with elaborate stained-glass windows. Ornate chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and delicate spiral staircases wind their way up to the other floors.

"Wammy's House used to be a church," L explains, answering yet another question B never got the chance to ask. "We've done a bit of renovating, but Watari wanted to keep the aesthetic. What do you think?"

B is too awestruck to speak. L smiles, then motions for the younger boy to follow. They ascend the stairs up toward the next floor.

"The ground floor is going to be classrooms," L explains while they walk, seeming excited as he talked about it. "The second and third floors have been remodeled to be rooms for the other students."

"How many are there going to be?" B asks, finally speaking up.

"Well, that hasn't been decided yet." L admits. "There's room for up to a hundred students, but if it's left up to me there won't be many more than fifty."

"How many are there now?"

"At the moment, I'm afraid there's only two of you. But we'll have more coming in over the next few days, along with some of the best professors to teach you guys."

B furrows his brow.

"Teach us to do what?"

L shrugs.

"At the end of the day, I suppose it's up to you."

(L's hiding something- but B can't figure out what).

He leads B down a hall and knocks on one of the door on the left. After a few moments, the door creaks open.

"B, this is A."

Eyes the color of warm honey peer out beneath masses of coffee-colored corkscrew curls. Her skin gave the impression that it wanted to be far darker than it was, but that excessive time kept indoors had robbed it of its pigment. She's wearing an oversized button-up plaid shirt that hung down to her knees. She blinks at him with her pretty, wide eyes. B gnaws on his thumbnail and stares at the letters above her head.

 _Ashton Ackerman, 102206_

He does the math in his head- this beautiful girl didn't have very long to live.

There's something sad about that.

"I'll let you two get acquainted." L says, already wandering away. The girl reaches a hand out as if she wants him to stay, but it seems like she can't bring herself to call out to him, so she only lets him leave. She seems so sad that B almost wants to reach out and give her a hug.

"So, uh-"

B isn't used to being left alone to converse with strangers, and fidgets uncomfortably.

"When did you get here?" He asks, after an awkward pause.

The girl blinks.

"Um- I got here yesterday." She answers. The girl has a soft, mousey voice not unlike his mother's…

Are you afraid of me?" B asks, starting to gnaw on his thumbnail anxiously.

"N-no!" The girl lies. "W-why would I be?"

"Lots of people are afraid of me." B says bitterly, unable to repress his scowl.

The girl's brow knits together. She brushes the masses of curly hair away from her face, tilting her head rather like a puppy.

"Why?"

It's getting a bit easier to talk now. Something in this girl sets him at ease.

"I dunno. 'Cause I'm weird. And my eyes freak people out."

A stares at him for a very long time.

"I don't think they're freaky." She says, finally.

B raises an eyebrow.

"You're lying."

She shakes her head.

"I think they're cute!" She insists.

B feels his cheeks go hot. Is he blushing?

"C-cute?" He splutters, indignant.

A cracks a small smile and giggles lightly.

"Yeah. They're cute. I like them."

B has no idea how he's supposed to respond. Nobody but his mom has really called him _cute_ before.

There's another long silence between them. They sit on the floor of the hall and regard each other wordlessly. After awhile, out of pure curiosity, B reaches out and grabs one of A's curls, stretching it out to its full length before releasing it. It bounces back to match the rest, and B can't help but grin as A turns dark pink. He grabs another lock of hair to watch it uncoil and spring back into place.

"S-stop it!" A mumbles, turning red and hiding her face in her hands.

"Make me." B challenges, still smiling.

A opens her mouth to protest, but is interrupted by the deep, booming chime of a bell.

"Where's that coming from?" B asks.

A gets up off the floor and motions toward a window.

"The bell." She explains, as B rises to join her. "It rings every hour."

She climbs up into the deep windowsill and opens the window up to let the sound in more clearly.

"It's loud." B complains.

"I like it." A replies.

"Huh? What for?"

"I dunno. I guess- it's like it's telling me I'm home. Like, as long as I hear the bell, I'm not ever gonna be hurt again."

B frowns.

"Is every girl as weird as you?" He asks.

A frowns as well.

"Don't be rude."

"I am not!"

"You are so!"

B crosses his arms and pouts impetuously.

"Girls really _are_ weird."

"And boys are dumb." A retorts, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Are you calling L dumb too?"

"L is different."

"Says who?"

"I say so."

"You're crazy."

A taps B on the nose with a cheeky smirk on her face.

"And you're cute."

"Stop it."

"No."

B can't help but laugh. It kind of feels good, actually talking to someone his own age. He doesn't think he's ever done that before.

It isn't bad.


	5. shAre A secret

**So this'll be the last of the shortish chapters, I promise. Things can get underway properly from here on out :)**

* * *

A few weeks pass, and Wammy's house becomes a hive of activity. Children come in one or two at a time. Children of all ages and colors. Children from all over the world. The only thing they shared in common were the brilliant minds they each possessed.

The halls buzz with conversation as the children feel each other out- forming friendships, making enemies.

As children are wont to do.

B doesn't speak with any of them. He finds their conversations dull, and has no interest in the silly games they played.

Adults filter in and out of the house as well, carrying books and heavy binders with them. Three or maybe four of them started pulling each of the children aside in turn, interrogating them for what felt like an eternity behind closed doors.

B's own turn came soon enough, at the hands of an elderly man with a round belly and a rather proud nose. Fat fingers clutch a clipboard in one hand, and heavy black fountain pen in the other. Beady, piggy eyes survey him in a way that makes the boy feel like an insect under examination.

B loathes that feeling.

 _Anthony Berke, 708989,_ reads the writing above his head.

"So," the man begins, his double-chin quavering as he clears his throat. "You're B, are you?"

B bobs his head in silent agreement.

"Well then. Why don't you have a seat and tell me a bit about yourself, B?"

B gnaws on his thumbnail, regarding the man uncertainly.

"Why should I?"

The man called Anthony is taken aback by this brusque demeanor, but gathers his composure back up quickly.

"Come now, boy!" He tries to sound jolly, but fails. "I don't bite! Have a seat and let's have a gentleman's talk."

B ponders for a minute, then decides there's no harm in it. He clambers into the armchair across from the man, sitting back on his heels and keeping his eyes fixated on this new adult.

"There we go," The man says approvingly. "Now, how about we start with how old you are?"

"I'll be seven on Halloween." B answers curtly, more interested in working out the numbers above the man's head than in their conversation.

"Ah- that's a very fine birthday to have."

B shrugs, gnawing on his thumbnail even more intently.

 _I wonder what's gonna kill him tomorrow._ He wonders. _Maybe a heart attack. That wouldn't surprise me._

"And how are you settling in here B? Made any friends?"

"...One." He admits.

"Jolly good. Friends are important, you know."

B suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. An uncomfortable silence stretches between them while the man scribbles some notes on his clipboard.

"Now, this may be very difficult for you to talk about," the man says, doing his best to broach the subject gently, "But I've been told that you very recently lost your mother."

The words pierce through B's heart and twist like a knife. He hugs his knees and nods.

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

Stubborn silence.

"It might make you feel better." The man offers.

"...I told her not to go," B whimpers miserably. "I told her not to go on the train…"

"Why didn't you want her to go?" The man probes.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." B grumbles.

"You can tell me. It's alright, I promise."

B scowls. If this guy keeps annoying him…

"Because," he finally says, "I know when people are gonna die."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, looking understandably skeptical.

"How...long has this been going on for?" He asks carefully. B is unsure whether he's indulging him or if he's actually curious.

"For as long as I can remember." B admits. "Since before I even knew what I was seeing."

"Have you ever told anyone else about this?"

"My mama knew."

"And what did she tell you about what you see?"

B squeezes his legs tighter still, trying to keep his nerves together.

"She said my dad could see it too. That he gave me the power as a gift before...before he died. She said it's nothing to be afraid of."

"...Are you afraid of it?"

"Not really." B answers. "It's always been this way. But other people would be. It's why mama told me to keep it a secret."

Arthur seems very concerned by this.

"You can't tell anybody else!" B growls, baring his unusually sharp canine teeth at the man.

"Oh. O-of course I won't. It'll be our secret, okay?"

 _Lies. All lies. But it doesn't matter._

 _You won't be around long enough for it to matter._

The questioning goes on for some time after that, but B stops paying attention.

Are _all_ adults this troublesome?

After a century or more, he's finally allowed out of the room. He darts out of the office and upstairs to A's room.

She isn't there.

He bolts up the stairs to the third floor, where the library is. A loves the library.

But he can't find her there, either. He even checks the supply closet.

He crosses his arms and pouts for a moment, before a thought enters his mind.

 _The bell tower._

Could students even get up there?

It was worth a shot, he supposed.

He darts back down the stairs and down the dark, deserted corridor that led to the belltower. The door is ajar- someone's definitely gone up there. He climbs the winding staircase two at a time, curiosity mingling with his desire to see his friend.

Late evening sunlight filters through the enormous stained-glass windows, creating a dim and eerie atmosphere around him.

"A!" He calls. His small voice bounces off the walls as a ghostly chorus answers him.

When he doesn't get a response, he tries again.

"Why are you up here all alone?!"

"Go away!" An echoing fleet of As answers back.

B doesn't obey the command, nearly tripping on his own feet when awe takes him aback.

The roof of the tower is an enormous stained-glass dome, glittering and beautiful. The golden bell in the center of the room gleams where the sunlight hits it, so bright it's almost blinding.

The bell itself is rigged on a giant gear system that clicked incessantly, keeping steady time until the next ring.

A is huddled in a miserable heap on the floor, trembling and not making a sound. B sits on the ground beside her and doesn't say anything.

 _What's wrong?_ He wants to ask, but doesn't have the courage.

"...I hate adults," A finally mumbles.

She peers at B through masses of curly hair, pretty eyes welled with tears. And B understands.

"They talked to you too, then?"

"Yeah."

B reaches out to awkwardly pat the girl on the shoulder.

"They keep poking around in my head," A whimpers. "I want them to stay out."

B makes a small sound of agreement.

"I just want to be left alone…"

"Should I leave, then?" B asks.

"No!"

The sudden shrillness of her voice makes B wince.

"No…" She repeats, more softly. "You can stay."

B starts gnawing on his thumbnail once more. The steady ticking of the gears of the belltower is all that breaks the silence.

"Hey, B…"

"Hm?"

A bites her bottom lip.

"If I asked you a question, would you laugh at me?"

"Huh? Of course not! Why would I do that?" B is offended by the very suggestion.

A is wringing her hands in anxiety.

"I just...I've tried asking grownups before. But every time I try and ask them, I never get a straight answer. Even the one who was talking to me before. They keep acting like it's stupid. One of them even said I was too young to be asking."

"I won't think it's stupid." B reassures her.

A takes a deep breath.

"Do you think...Do you think it's possible to be born a girl- with a girl's body, I mean- but you don't _feel_ like a girl?"

B raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

A's eyes dart around the tower walls.

"You know...Do you think it's possible for a boy to accidentally be born in a girl's body?"

"Hm."

B ponders this for a bit, still chewing away at his nail.

A holds her breath while she waits for him to answer.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be." B finally says.

This perks A up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean- why shouldn't it be?"

"The adults keep telling me it doesn't happen." A pouts, resting her head on her knees.

"What do they know?" B asks imperiously. "They can't read somebody's mind and see whether they're a boy or a girl in their heads, can they?"

A's entire body relaxes when B says this.

"...Thank you," she mumbles.

"So," B mumbles, wondering if his question was inappropriate. "Are you asking this because you're actually a boy?"

Crimson flush floods A's round cheeks. It's all the answer B needs.

"...Do you think it's weird?"

B frowns.

"No. Why should I?"

A looks so confused. But what else can B say about it? Should he tell A that he can see people's names and lives, so wanting to be a boy isn't the strangest thing in the world? Would that offend him?

No. He doesn't feel safe telling A that secret yet. Not when he would risk being roundly rejected by his newfound friend.

He'll tell his secret some other time.


	6. the Beast

So a certain character will be introduced in this chapter. I don't use his name until the very end, but it should be pretty obvious who he is hopefully.

Also let's play 'spot the super obvious reference to the Death Note: ReLight special XD

Please review if you like my work :)

* * *

In the months B has lived at Wammy's House, he's learned a few important things.

The first: the other children are afraid of him. Whether it was his eyes or his teeth or his propensity to stare at people, nothing could clear an area of children faster than B stepping in and quietly asking if he could join them.

The second: the adults at Wammy's House distrusted him. They constantly glanced over at him as if they were afraid he might do something they didn't like. If they were worried he would hurt the other children, or worried he might hurt himself, B didn't know, and didn't much care. He's used to getting dirty looks when he's out and about, and as long as they leave him mostly alone, he'll be alright.

The third: there is something happening to him, and he's not quite sure he likes it.

It had been easy enough to ignore at first- a brief moment, a flickering shadow at the edge of his vision. Vague shapes writhing at the edge of his vision, gone the moment he turned his head to catch it. As time goes on, however, the shapes and shadows have come into focus, like a camera lens slowly adjusting and unblurring. Something is following him; whether it's real or not, something is following B around no matter where he tries to hide. Whether he's in the library or the bell tower, this mysterious figure follows him around, never directly seen, but always there.

Enormous, batlike wings haunt the corner of his eye, sharp teeth bared in a grin with no hint of joy within it. The creature is like a demented circus clown with claws; occasionally, it would let out a hoarse cackle that sent a chill up B's spine, but never anything more than that.

He wonders if the adults are right about him- what if he really is insane?

But, if that were the case, wasn't this exactly the sort of thing the medication was supposed to prevent?

What was the point of those damn pills that dulled his mind and stole his energy, if they couldn't banish this thing from his mind? If they couldn't save him from the supposed delusions he was having, surely he'd be better off without them at all.

Despite this, however, B doesn't say anything about the monster. Not to any of the adults, not to any of the children, and not even to A. However, he has a feeling he's already picked up on B's constant unease. A often casts worried glances his way; wanting to ask if B needs help, but unsure about how to do it.

B doesn't say anything to him. He observes the monster out of his peripheral vision, chalking it up to being mad.

He had to be, after all. Everyone told him he was.

He tried to push the creature out of his mind, but it would creep back into his thoughts late at night, when there was no schoolwork to distract him and no A to occupy his time.

L's appearances in the halls of Wammy's House were scarce, to B's perpetual dismay. Surely L would know what to do- how to banish this awful vision from his mind.

Because L seemed to know everything.

He was an enigma. A quiet, constant shadow lurking in the attic, like some spirit living the building. Rarely seen, but always there, hidden behind a door none of the students dared enter. Occasionally that door would open, eerie greenish light spilling into the hallway to reveal a veritable hoard of computer screens and reams of paper. L haunted that room of Wammy's House, doing whatever important work he did.

Like the phantom monster in B's mind.

The monster that's currently hovering at the edge of B's bed while he desperately tries to find some sleep. It likes to do that when B is alone at night, perhaps trying to get a reaction out of the boy. B does his best to ignore it.

It's just my imagination. It'll go away if I ignore it long enough.

"Sheesh, you're a pretty boring human after all, aren't ya?"

Sweet Jesus Christ, it talked!

Its voice is hoarse, raspy and ragged, like it'd spent its entire life inhaling cigarette smoke instead of air.

B shoots upright in bed, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp.

The monster grins at him.

"So do you finally get it, kid?" the creature asks. "Or are you just gonna keep pretending I'm not real?"

"Why...Why don't you just go away!" B shouts, grabbing a heavy textbook off his bedside and throwing it hard at the monster.

This seems to catch the creature off guard. The book hits it upside the head, nearly knocking it over.

"OW!" The monster cries, rubbing its head. "What the hell was that for?!"

It is real…

With this new knowledge, B does what any reasonable soon-to-be-eight-year-old boy would do in this situation-

He screams.

"Aw, come on, kid, don't shout! It hurts my ears!" The creature whines, clapping its giant clawlike hands over his ears and shaking its head. B topples out of bed and hits the floor with a loud -thump-

A knock at the door silences both of them.

"B?" L calls from the other side of the door. "Are you alright?"

As quickly as it came, the monster disappears. Where it came from, or where it went, B doesn't care- so long as it never comes back.

(wishful thinking.)

B scrambles to his feet and opens the door.

"Yeah uh, I'm okay," he mumbles. "I just had a, uh, nightmare. That's all."

L gives B an awkward pat on the head, but offers no words of comfort.

"Come on, B." He says brightly. "I was just going downstairs for some cake."

This late at night?

B nods and trails after him, casting a small backward glance at the door to A's room. He must be a heavy sleeper for that not to wake him.

He follows L into the kitchen, where the older boy cuts two generous slices from the chocolate cake in the fridge. He goes about making himself a pot of coffee, while B surveys him intently.

"Doncha ever sleep?" he asks, taking the strawberry from the top of his cake and setting it aside for last.

"I'm not fond of it," L admits, stuffing his mouth full of cake while he watches the coffee drip into the pot.

"Well why not?"

"Because I'm afraid of monsters." The older boy replies, with his mouth full.

B perks , if he was lucky, L was enduring the same thing he was.

"Monsters?" He asks, trying not to sound too eager. "What kind of monsters?"

L is silent for awhile. Slowly, he sets down his half-empty plate. His body goes rigid, as if he really is scared.

"All kinds of monsters," he finally answers, jet black eyes still fixated on the coffee pot. "Monsters that steal from others. Monsters who abduct children. Monsters who kill, though they have no right to take a life."

B's eagerness abates. It's clear that he and L are thinking of two very different types of monster.

"But the kind of monsters that scares me the most-" L says, pouring the freshly-made coffee into his favorite mug "-Are the lying monsters."

"Huh?"

L dumps sugar into his mug and sighs heavily.

"The ones that hurt others, though they don't feel pain themselves. The ones who eat even though they've never known what it's like to go hungry. The kind who offer friendship even though they don't know how to love. Those are the kinds of monsters that scare me the worst."

"But why?" B asks, tilting his head.

L holds his coffee cup close to his chest, smiling a defeated, weak sort of smile.

"I'm afraid that, one day- even if I don't want to- I'm going to become that sort of monster."

B furrows his brow, confused.

"But why would you?" He asks, concern tingeing his voice. "Aren't you supposed to be the good guy? The guy who fights those kinds of bad people?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," L answers, still opting to lean against the kitchen counter rather than sit down."But you know what Nietzsche said about fighting against monsters."

"Yeah." B replies. He'd actually been reading the book with that very quote earlier today. "If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. I remember- but I don't think I get what it means."

"It means-" L begins, pausing to take a long drink of his coffee, "that when you dedicate yourself fighting against something, if you're not careful, you might wind up far more like them than you would like."

"But why would that happen?" B asks rather imperiously.

L shrugs.

"I mean it!" B feels his cheeks grow hot with his indignance at this notion. "I mean- you don't hurt people, right?"

"...Not on purpose." L finally answers.

"Have you ever gone hungry?" B demands.

L begins to fidget uncomfortably. His pitch eyes dart around the room as if recalling something unpleasant.

"...You could say that."

"Do you lie?"

L doesn't answer.

"I mean- if you're nothing like the kind of people that scare you- how could you turn into one?"

L lets out a laugh.

"Maybe I'm being silly," he admits, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his slice of cake. "It's not right to bother you with my petty worries, anyway. You might be better off ignoring me."

"...I don't mind listening," B mumbles, the pink in his cheeks turning scarlet.

(It felt too weird to admit that he admired L. Out loud, at least.)

"No, I mean it," L says, his tone grave, rapping the side of his head with a spidery finger. "I'm completely bonkers. None of what I say ever makes any sense; I wouldn't believe any of it if I were you."

He laughs a bit, though it sounds just as tired as he looks.

"Thinking so pessimistically is probably why I have no friends." He jokes impassively.

B scowls at the notion, but doesn't say anything.

Bong! Bong! Bong! Cried the Wammy's House bell, announcing the hour to anyone still awake at this ungodly time.

"I'd better get back to work." L sighs, picking up his mug. "I'll see you around, B. Please try to get some sleep."

B Watches as the older boy retreats back to his sanctuary, and catches himself yawning.

"Monsters…" He mumbles to himself, staring at the crumbs left on his plate, like a bunch of little bugs surrounding the still-uneaten strawberry.

He rests his head on his arms, fixated on the bright red berry.

"Even if I don't want to…"

L is so weird…

B's eyelids feel heavy…

"I'm going to become that sort of monster."

Why would someone like L even have to worry about that?

* * *

"Hey B, wake up!"

B jolts awake, recoiling when his neck screams at him for being so awkwardly bent.

A's brow is furrowed, head tilted like a curious puppy. He has a slice of jellied toast in hand, nibbling on it as he observed his friend.

"What're you doing?"

B yawns and stretches out, his back popping with an audible crack.

"Oh, nothin'," he answers, giving his scalp a vigorous scratch. "Just dozed off I guess."

"Hm."

A seems satisfied by this answer, and breaks out in a broad grin, thick coils of hair bouncing as he bobs his head in excitement.

"Professor Kirkland is doing a special demonstration in the science lab soon," he chirps, amber eyes alight with glee. "She promised to show us something cool- rumor says she's gonna blow something up. You wanna come with me?"

B perks up. His chair shrieks on the tile as he clamors to stand up.

"Lemme get dressed. I'll meet you there."

"Better hurry! It's in ten minutes!" A scolds, taking off toward the science lab, weaving through the growing crowd of children heading for breakfast. "I'll save you a spot!"

B dashes up the stairs to his room and hurries to make himself at least somewhat presentable.

"Well someone's excited."

B freezes in place. However, rather than being frightened by that hoarse voice, he feels more angry this time.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?!" He snaps, turning to face that sharp-toothed grin once more.

"Because you're interesting." The monster replies, flopping down on B's bed and kicking his gangly legs in a distinctly childish manner.

"Why me though?" B whines, tossing his pajama shirt at the creature, but missing. "There's billions of humans around for you to stalk!"

"You're not like those other humans though," the creature says.

B rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. You sure you don't just like stalking little boys?"

"Don't be a smartass!" the creature demands. "Geez, I'm trying to be nice, but you're making it pretty hard- especially when you threw that book at me!"

"Serves you right for staring. Do you get a kick out of watching me sleep?"

"I'm just tryna figure you out, okay?! Nobody else cares enough to do it."

B quirks an eyebrow.

"Figure me out?"

"Your lifespan's all wrong."

B frowns.

"My lifespan?"

The monster gestures to the space above its own head.

"There's a complete blank up there. No name, no numbers, nothin'. It's kinda like you're dead."

B glances at his dresser mirror, at the blank space above his head.

He'd never given any thought to that before. Then again, he'd never met another being who could see what he saw, so he'd never really had to give it any thought.

Speaking of…

"Are you a shinigami?" B asks

The creature laughs that horrid, raspy laugh.

"How'd ya finally figure it out?"

"The eyes," B replies, pulling down his lower eyelid. "My mother told me about your kind."

The monster jolts like it's been startled.

"Hey- by any chance was she some small Japanese lady?"

"Huh? Yeah, she was. Why?"

"Was she an artist, too?"

"Yeah. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ha! I knew it!"

"Knew wha-"

Suddenly, the creature is mere millimeters from B's face, its grin so broad its face might split in half.

B recoils, slamming into the back of his dresser, scarlet eyes wide with terror. He grips the edge of his drawer until his knuckles go white, knees nearly ready to give out from underneath him.

"That sly bastard- I knew that human was special to him, but this is just ridiculous!"

"W-what are you talking about?!"

"Did that woman ever tell you about how you got those eyes?" The monster demands, a wickedly sharp claw getting dangerously near B's face.

"I-I...she said they were a-a gift from my father…"

"Oh, they're your father's eyes, alright."

"I don't…"

"You're supposed to be smart. Use that head of yours for a second." The thing rests its enormous hands on its hips in a caricature of annoyance. "If mommy said those eyes are from daddy, and shinigami are the only ones who have these eyes- what do you think daddy was?"

The wood of the dresser drawer creaks dangerously under B's grip, threatening to splinter. All thoughts of joining A and witnessing an explosion are long gone from his mind, replaced with unmitigated fear.

"A...a shinigami…"

B's voice is little more than panicked breath now.

"So this...this is all real then?" B feels ready to faint. "A-and you're-"

Another guttural laugh from the beast before him.

"A shinigami, that's right.

The shinigami does a mock bow.

"I suppose I should introduce myself," it says, baring all its teeth. "Your father was an old friend of mine. My name is Ryuuk."

"


	7. Little Brother

**I am so sorry this chapter took me so damn long to get out! I have no excuse ;-; Hopefully it's at least a fun read.**

* * *

"A...A friend?"

Ryuuk cackles icily, raising the hairs on the back of B's neck.

"Yeah, Rue and I used to pal around all the time. Things in the Shinigami world are boring with him gone."

B's knees buckle, and he hits the floor. Ryuuk keeps talking as though B isn't frozen in terror.

"Rue was absolutely fascinated by you humans. He was always watching humans, wondering why they did what they did and what kept them going. He'd get so absorbed he'd watch the same human for years on end. Then he got obsessed with this one human- the prettiest human woman he'd ever seen, he always said. I'm sure you know the one."

"...Mom…"

"So he finally decided to stop babbling about her and just go visit her. He left without telling anyone, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him."

B grips the corner of the dresser drawer so tightly his knuckles might burst through his skin. His heart thumps wildly against his ribcage like a trapped animal, his mind both racing far too face and frozen in place at the same time. He swallows thickly, his throat turned to sandpaper. He can't find the courage to speak.

Ryuuk waes a massive, clawed hand in front of his face.

"Hey, kiddo- you awake?"

B violently shakes his head, trying to bring himself back to reality.

 _I'm hallucinating. I have to be. I really am crazy. This isn't real. None of this is real. It can't be real. I've finally lost my mind._

"Ya know- I wasn't expecting you to look so much like him. Humans don't usually look so much like shinigami."

 _Is that a compliment…?_

"Are you even listening?! I don't like being ignored!"

"Just leave me _alone!"_ B shrieks, clamping his hands over his ears and shutting his eyes tightly.

 _Go away go away go away go away go away go awaygoawaygoawaygoAWAY!_

"Geez, fine, fine." Ryuuk grumbles in disappointment. "I'll check back in when you're not so cranky."

B's breath comes in short, panicked gasps. He rocks himself back and forth in tiny, rhythmic movements, trying in vain to soothe himself. He loses track of how much time is passing, until a small knock at his door brings him out of his trance.

He rises shakily to his feet and wobbles to the door.

A frowns at him, wide brown eyes full of concern.

"You didn't show up. Is something wrong?"

B draws an uneasy breath.

"I...I don't know. I don't know…"

"B, you're shaking-"

A grabs his hands and gives them a worried squeeze. B whimpers like a small, frightened animal.

"What's going on, B?"

B can only whine, and throw his arms around his friend and hiding his face in his shirt. A doesn't know what's going on, but he holds on anyway, mumbling whatever reassuring nonsense came into his head.

"What's wrong with me…?" B mumbles.

"Nothing, B! Nothing!" A insists, squeezing him tighter. "You're okay…"

B has no idea what's wrong with him. He can't even begin to make sense of what just happened. But he's frightened. A fear that goes down to his bones and eats him alive.

Whether that monster is in his head or not makes precious little difference to him; it's real enough to him, and that's what is so terrifying.

It takes what feels like forever for B to stop trembling. He clings to A- the only thing keeping him from drowning.

"...I'm scared," he whimpers.

"It's okay- I'm here. It's okay, it's okay, I'm here…"

A mutters his comforting little mantra until B finally of being mad at B are long gone; all that matters is banishing the demons haunting him. That's something A knows he can do.

When B's breathing has finally settled and his heart stops its jackhammer impersonation, he finally pulls away.

"...I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about!"

A smiles awkwardly, revealing his missing front tooth and crooked grin.

"Except for missing the explosion down in the science lab, of course!"

B's red eyes go wide.

"I forgot about that…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're alright."

B frowns and glances briefly over his shoulder.

The shinigami is, indeed, gone. If it had ever really been there at all.

"Why don't we go downstairs? I saw the cafeteria ladies bringing out a strawberry cheesecake!"

Strawberries. Strawberries make everything better.

"Y-yeah."

* * *

"Oh, hi, you two."

L offers them a little wave and returns to his computer, engrossed in some task or another while he picks at his generous slice of cheesecake. B and A get their own and pick seats on either side of him, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of his work.

The steady _taptaptap_ ping of L's fingers against the keyboard soothe the edges of B's ragged nerves.

"Hey, L-"

"Hm?"

"You know what shinigami are, right?"

L doesn't break pace with his typing.

"They're part of Japanese folklore, if I remember right. Specters of death, mostly- why are you asking?"

"Well...you said you were afraid of monsters." B says, a bit sheepishly.

L quirks an eyebrow.

"You do realize I was being metaphorical, right? Monsters like shinigami don't actually exist."

B's heart sinks, his face pulling downward. A casts a concerned glance in his direction.

"Right. Sorry."

B picks at the strawberries on top of his slice of cake, not having much of an appetite anymore. A keeps his golden brown eyes trained on him, but doesn't say much. L becomes absorbed in his work again and stops paying either of them attention.

B wants to say something. To pull L aside and tell him what he saw; to beg him for help.

 _I'm seeing things I'm not sure are really there. I need you to help me find out the truth._

 _I'm scared._

But when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is snatched away from him, and he can't get the words out.

 _Coward_

He hangs his head in utter defeat.

 _I'm scared._

 _ **I'm scared.**_

A touches his arm. Gently, nervously.

 _I'm here for you_ that touch says. _It's gonna be okay._

It isn't very much comfort, but it's enough to bring about a sad half-smile.

He doesn't understand. Just like L doesn't understand. How could they? They just aren't crazy the same way he is.

The loneliness is painful.

* * *

The halls are dead quiet this late at night, everyone having gone to bed long ago. B wanders the deserted corridors with no particular destination in mind; perhaps trying to escape those thoughts that won't give him rest.

The bell rings out a solitary _Gong!_ To signal the hour. B glances at the window- the pitch black outside only reflects his own face back at him.

His scarlet eyes gleam catlike in the darkness. B reaches up to his face, fingers softly tugging at his bottom eyelid.

 _He gave his eyes to you as a gift before he died._

He can't see his own name, nor how long he has to live. And for some reason, that irritates him. He scowls at his reflection, fingernails biting into the delicate skin beneath his eye.

 _Some gift._

 _Mama- why did you have to leave me?_

"You're up late."

B shrieks and topples backward. L catches him before he can hit the ground, laughing the slightest bit.

"Did I startle you?"

"Yes!" B squeaks, his face growing very hot.

"I'm sorry."

The older boy sets B back on his feet.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

B nods sheepishly.

"It's alright. I am, too."

B blinks.

"Why?"

"My mind's too loud." L replies, matter-of-factly, turning to leave.

"What's that supposed to mean?" B demands, following the older boy as he heads back off down the hall.

"Oh, nothing really," L answers with a shrug."I just have too much to think about. That's all." He sounds weary as he says it.

L stops into the kitchen to snag a box of strawberries before continuing on his path. B trails close behind him, watching him carefully. L eventually finds his way to the endless stairwell that led up to the belltower. B follows him up the stairs, confusion written across his brow.

When they reach the top, L seats himself on the cold stone floor and pops the top off the box of strawberries. He grabs one by the little green leaves and bites into it. B sits beside him and grabs a strawberry for himself.

L's deep black eyes are fixated on the stained-glass ceiling above them, seeing without seeing. B can practically see the gears turning in L's mind- just like the gears in the bell tower.

"...These are good," B comments, trying to drown out the incessant ticking.

"Yes, they are," L replies absentmindedly.

 _Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick_

"-It's nice to know," he adds, after a pause, "that there'll always be food around whenever I'm hungry."

"Huh? What's that mean?"

 _Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick_

L squirms uncomfortably, uncomfortable divulging so much of himself.

"Being hungry is unpleasant," he mutters after an eon, pulling a face. "But it's so much worse when you don't know whether your next meal will be in an hour or in a week."

A spidery hand ghosts over his stomach, his gaze fixed somewhere in the past. B nibbles on one of the strawberries, brow knitted together while he thought about what L had said.

"Did that happen to you?"

It's an obvious question, but B asks anyway, if only to sound sympathetic.

L offers a weary smile.

"It was a long time ago," he answers, reaching for another of the strawberries and shaking his head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Whaddaya mean, it doesn't matter?!" B snaps. This makes L laugh- a soft, sad sound that pierces the younger boy clean through.

"I can't change what happened back then," he replies, flicking away a stray strawberry leaf. "If I want food now, I can have it. That's what matters- the right now."

B glowers, and L can tell he doesn't accept that answer.

"I can't undo what's been done, B. And I decided a long time ago that I would only worry about the things I _can_ 's why I do what I do."

"And...what do you do, exactly? I've never asked."

"I do a lot of things," L says, with a shrug of his skinny shoulders. "I find answers to questions nobody else can understand. I try to bring justice to people who can't get it themselves. I hunt down the monsters I'm so scared of, so they can't scare anyone else."

L hugs his knees to his chest. He looks so unbearably sad.

"It's not enough. It's never going to be enough. But it's the best I can do. After all- I'm just a human."

 _Just a human…_

 _Not like me._

Even though he isn't much older than B, L looks absolutely ancient in his contemplation. B dares to creep in closer.

 _But for 'just a human', you aren't bad._

B leans against the older boy, hoping this gesture might offer some sort of comfort. The older boy wraps his arms around B's tiny body and pulls him into a hug, letting out a heavy sigh.

L smells like coffee and sweet things. His body is warm, his heart beating a steady tattoo inside his chest. B closes his eyes, willing himself to be lost in the sensation.

"I wonder if this is what having a little brother is like," L mumbles, with the barest hint of humor.

"Is it a bad thing?" B asks, sheepishly.

"No. Not really."

They lapse into a companionable silence, content to enjoy each other's company. The two stay like that until the bell shakes them out of their reverie with deafening twin gongs.

"Goodness, it's pretty late. You should probably try and catch some more sleep."

"Can't we just stay a bit longer?" B whines. "This is nice."

It really is- he hasn't felt safe like this since his mother last held him...

L makes a show of pretending to be annoyed.

"Fine. Just for a little bit."


	8. hAppy BirthdAy

**Hi everyone! Once again, I'm back from the dead with more B! Have fun!**

 **Did you love this chapter? Have a suggestion? Hate my face and want me to know that? Leave a review and let me know!**

* * *

B hasn't seen the Shinigami since the creature had introduced itself. Days became weeks, which turned into months, and B didn't see so much as a hint of the monster's claws. The passage of time begins to fade the memory from his mind as more important things worked their way to the forefront.

His eighth birthday comes and passes without much fanfare; he receives a box of strawberry candies from L, and a hand-drawn card from A. Other than that, the other children and the professors at Wammy's House don't bother to so much as mumble a 'happy birthday' when they passed him in the halls.

B doesn't really mind, however. He doesn't need a lot of attention to be happy.

He carefully tucks the painstakingly drawn card away in his dresser drawer so he won't accidentally throw it away, and settles into the library to study while he eats his candy. The people he actually cared about remembered, and that's all he needs to know.

Outside of Wammy's House, Halloween celebrations are beginning to pop up. Children scurry about in costume, shops put out their displays of candy and other creepily-themed goodies. The streets are full of excited chatter as the sun fades away, and the streetlamps come on. So much life is taking place, just outside the gated academy.

Within the gilded gates of Wammy's, however, nobody seemed particularly keen on celebrations.

They were too absorbed in other things. Too busy with schoolwork to bother with trivial, childish things like costumes or candy. Despite still being children, nobody held much interest in the sorts of things normal children filled their days with.

Because none of them are normal.

B's mind begins to wander while he makes a halfhearted attempt at working his way through the math textbook open in front of him. His gaze keeps creeping toward the shower of falling leaves outside the enormous library window, drawing his attention away from his tedious work.

A looks over B's shoulder, frowning at the math problems on the table.

"You having some trouble?" He asks, poking B's cheek to get his attention.

"Huh? Maybe," B mumbles. "I'm just kinda distracted."

"I'll help you focus," A declares, drawing the curtains to block the view out the grand window. He flops down into the seat beside B, gnawing on his index finger and knitting his brow while he studied B's notes.

"You're doing this problem wrong," A points out, grabbing his pencil and erasing B's work. "You have to do the stuff in parentheses first, remember?"

"Ah hell!" B groans, burying his face in his hands . "I knew I forgot something!"

"It's no big deal- here, if you start it over, you'll be able to do it right. You know how to do these."

"It's such a pain!" B whines.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," A faux scolds.

B mutters an insult under his breath in Japanese.

"Huh?"

"I didn't say anything."

"C'mon, B- I thought you were good at math!"

"When the math is something I'm interested in."

"You can be a real baby sometimes- you know that?"

"Oh shaddup."

A absorbs himself in chattering away about the figures in front of them, while B allows his attention to wander to a different set of numbers.

102206

Ashton Ackerman, 102206

B tries so hard not to think about it. About the numbers hovering above A's head, like a grim specter. He's done the equation countless times. Trying desperately to find a mistake in his calculations, trying desperately to prove himself wrong.

He's not wrong.

He's never wrong.

"B, are you okay?"

B jolts back to reality, shaking his head to chase the thoughts away. A reaches out to touch his shoulder, worry written in his knitted brow.

"You look sad."

"Huh? I'm okay."

B gets out of his chair and puts the textbook where he found it.

"Hey, I'm getting bored with this- I'm gonna go outside for a bit, okay? Come with me."

* * *

The heavy, gray clouds hang over the grounds of Wammy's House like a concrete ceiling, stretching out far beyond what even B's special eyes can possibly see. It's just getting dark enough for the streetlamps to start heralding twilight, and the Halloween festivities begin properly. The voices of excited children reach their ears, almost taunting them.

B wraps a hand around one of the wrought iron fence posts.

There's so many people outside. So many floating numbers. So many names. So many people steadily and unknowingly marching toward death.

She's got a few years left. I wonder what's gonna happen. She seems like a nice lady.

He seems like the type to get into an accident. I bet that's why he's only got a week left.

She's even younger than I am. How come she's only got three months?

It isn't fair...

"You're crying."

A brushes B's cheek with the back of his hand, catching the tears falling down his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm...not sure," B answers, after a pause. He draws his hand back from the gate; the fence post leaves a red stripe across his palm. "I'm just sad, I guess."

"...Can I help?" A asks, softly.

"I don't know if anyone can help," B sighs in resignation.

He flops down onto the damp grass, hugging his too-long legs to his chest. A decides to sit down across from him, surveying him with pretty, dark eyes.

"It's okay to be sad."

B rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands until he sees little sparkles in the blackness behind his eyelids.

A solitary raindrop falls on B's head. Then another, then several more, until it starts to pour. A lets out a miserable groan of disappointment, glancing up at the steely sky.

"...You can go back inside if you want to. I'll stay here."

"No, it's okay. I wanna stay with you."

A takes hold of B's hand and gives it a squeeze.

"It's okay if you need to cry some more," he reassures his friend. "I get it."

"I think I'll be fine," B mumbles. "I just need a minute."

A manages a smile onto his face.

"Hey, I'm right here if you need to talk about stuff," he reminds B. "We're friends, remember?"

(But not for forever. Not even close.)

"Friends...yeah."

The rain quickly soaks through their clothes, bitter cold and unrelenting. The bell rings out six loud GONGs, rattling the fence with the sheer volume of it.

The bell. The ever-constant, ever watchful bell.

"Those kids are gonna be sad they got rained out of their special day," A remarks offhandedly, once the final gong fades.

"Yeah…"

A takes B's hands in his and tugs him back into a standing position.

"C'mon, B. We're gonna catch our death of cold out here."

* * *

"I made hot chocolate."

A presses a warm mug into B's hands, wearing a fake smile to try and lift the gloomy atmosphere. Those lovely brown (human) eyes watch B with careful concern.

"You feeling any better?"

B answers with nothing more than a shrug.

A hops on B's bed and sits cross-legged, still watching over the rim of his mug while he sipped his own cocoa. B sets his mug down on his desk with something resembling a sigh.

"Sorry I'm not in a better mood."

"No, it's okay! You don't need to apologize!"

The two sit in an awkward sort of silence for a few moments. B idly watches the little spirals of steam rising from his cocoa. A spins little ringlets in his damp hair with his fingers to keep his hands busy.

"Hey, what's a shinigami?" A finally asks. "You were talking to L about them before. Did your mom tell you about them?"

B perks up, coming back to attention.

"She talked about them all the time," he answers.

"What'd she say about them? What are they, exactly?"

A sits up straighter, focused intently on his companion.

"My mom said they live in a world that's completely different from ours. But they can watch us from their world."

"Why would they watch us, though?"

"Because they're predators."

A grips the hem of his shirt and wrings it anxiously.

"...what's that mean?" He whispers in fright.

"She told me that every shinigami has a notebook," B replies. "And special eyes that let them see people's names, and how long they've got to live. When they write someone's name down in their notebook, they get however much time the person has left."

"...And the person dies." It isn't a question. Just A's logical conclusion.

B nods.

"If they don't...kill people, do they die?" A asks.

"I think so. Eventually, anyway. I never thought to ask about it."

"And- what if a human somehow got one of their notebooks? Would it work for them, too?"

B bites down on his thumbnail and starts gnawing at it.

"My mom never said."

"It'd be scary if they could," A says worriedly. "If you could kill anyone you wanted, just by writing their name down…"

He shakes his head, damp curls swishing around.

"Someone could do a lot of bad with that much power."

B nods, still chewing on his thumbnail.

"They might start thinking they're some kind of king," he mutters.

"Maybe even a god," A adds, with a nervous laugh.

The thought makes B laugh as well.

"It'd take a special kind of crazy for that to happen."

"Lots of people think killing other people is okay," A points out. "And plenty of people think there's people who deserve to die."

B shrugs again, picking up his hot chocolate and taking a long drink of it.

"L says shinigami aren't real, anyway. So it doesn't make much sense to worry about it."

"I guess so." A doesn't sound entirely convinced. Worry paints his face, and B wonders if he was wrong to talk about this sort of thing.

"Hey, they're just stories. I wasn't trying to scare you…"

"I'm not scared!" A lies, his adamant tone broken by the tremor in his voice.

"You don't have to pretend."

B isn't sure whether he should be annoyed at A's blatant lying, so he doesn't say any more than that.

A starts chewing on a lock of his hair.

"...Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

Rain continues pounding relentlessly on the roof, fogging up the window and making halos around the streetlamps outdoors.

Deciding to break the tension, B gets out of his chair and pulls on one of A's ringlets, stretching it out and letting it spring back with a cute little bounce.

"H-hey!"

"Let's lighten up a little."

B tugs on the ringlet once more, grinning enough to bare his sharp teeth.

A pouts, grabbing a lock of B's gray hair and tugging on it in turn.

"OW!"

A giggles and repeats the action.

"You can't do that! Mine's not like yours!" B protests.

"Yeah, yours is pretty boring, besides the color," A remarks, in a teasing sort of way.

B goes pink in the cheeks and buries his face in his hands.

"You're mean!"

"Oh, bite me."

Another bit of silence lapses, broken by the endless tattoo of rain.

Then, for no reason in particular, they both burst out laughing. They laugh until tears of mirth well up in their eyes and neither of them can catch their breath.

For those few, precious moments, B feels like a normal child again.

* * *

"God, is it still raining?" B whines, glaring daggers out his bedroom window.

"It's England. It does that," A answers, with a quirked eyebrow.

"I miss Los Angeles," B replies, with a sigh. "It's always sunny there."

"Maybe you'll be able to go back sometime?"

"I guess I'll have to. I'll go crazy if I have to live in the rain for the rest of my life."

"I'll go with you!" A chirrups. "I've always wanted to go to America!"

B perks up, smiling, once again, in spite of himself.

"Yeah! I'll show you all my mom and my favorite places! Maybe we can see if some of my old neighbors are still around!"

For a few precious moments, B feels like a normal child, making lofty future plans with his best friend, without having to worry about things like death or monsters or whatever else likes to haunt the corners of his mind.

For a few precious moments, everything feels okay.


	9. MihaeL keehL

**NOTE: In this chapter, B expresses some very unflattering opinions of mental health professionals. This in NO way represents my views on psychologists and mental health care in general. Thanks for your attention :)**

 **Please leave a review, favorite/follow etc.**

* * *

 **Beyond Birthday: Age Ten**

B often wondered what the indoor tennis court was for, seeing as it didn't seem like anyone at Wammy's was much into sports. The net, the ball machine and the wall of rackets remained unused and rather lonely looking every time B happened to walk past them.

His eternal question is finally answered when he and A wander by one morning after an early lecture.

Their attention is caught by a persistent thumping sound, and the quick, labored sort of breathing that comes with physical exertion.

To both of their surprise, L is on the court, black eyes intense in their focus. A thin sheen of sweat covers his pale skin- he's obviously been at this for awhile.

The machine launches a tennis ball at him. L's grip tightens around his racket, the little sphere becoming a green blur when he launches it into the concrete wall.

A tries to get B to keep walking, but B ignores this and opens the glass door to the tennis court.

"You play tennis?" He demands, disbelief tinging his voice.

L doesn't so much as glance at the pair of them, far too absorbed in his own world.

"Hey B. A," he mumbles, every other syllable punctuated by a low grunt when his racket collides with another ball. "How was Professor Lyron's lecture?"

"Amazing! A replies.

"Boring," B insists (L didn't answer the question).

L snags a remote and turns off the machine, stifling the tennis balls for the moment.

"You know you don't have to go to a lecture that doesn't interest you," he points out.

"I only went because A went," B grumbles, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

"I didn't ask you to come!"

A's face turns bright red at B's confession.

L lets the matter drop, stretching out his arms with a soft, satisfied sound.

"I was just about to take a break- why don't you guys come read some comics with me?"

"You read comics?" B asks, perking up in excitement.

He and A trail after the older boy, following him up the stairs to that forbidden territory that was L's bedroom.

He fumbles briefly for his key and undoes the heavy lock on the door.

B and A hold their breath as they enter that hereto unexplored area.

The floor of L's room is littered with papers and wires, computers covering his desk and nightstand. The walls are completely plastered in superhero memorabilia- the most prominent being several nearly life-sized Batman posters. There are three enormous shelves packed to the brim with comics of all kinds- though, once again, Batman seemed to be the star.

L has begun rocking back and forth on his heels, black eyes alight with anticipation as he browses the shelves for the book he wants.

"You guys can pick whichever ones you like. But I'm gonna warn you-"

L's tone suddenly grows very stern.

"-If you tear any of the pages, I'll never forgive you."

A surveys the shelves eagerly. B gnaws on his thumbnail, wondering if it would be rude to ask what he wants to ask.

"Hey, L?" He mutters, so quietly that he isn't sure the older boy hears it at first.

"Yes?" L asks, after a few seconds' delay.

"...Do you have any manga?"

B's cheeks are burning with embarrassment as the words rush from his mouth.

It's rude to ask, B berates himself. L invited them to read with him; it's impolite to point out that nothing there is interesting to him, right?

"Manga? Sure I do."

A weight lifts itself off B's shoulders. Maybe he worries too much.

L opens his closet and retrieves a cardboard box.

"I haven't gotten around to getting a shelf put in for these yet- sorry about that."

B doesn't care. He rummages through the stacks of manga, hoping against hope that he'll find what he wants most.

His heart thumps wildly, a grin breaking out on his face when he spots it- a manga with a pretty blonde girl on it, smiling at the audience and wearing a red hood.

"This was my mom's favorite!" He declares, giving a little jump for joy and practically squealing in delight.

A wanders over, peering over B's shoulder.

"What is it?" He asks.

B looks aghast at A's ignorance.

"It's Akazukin Chacha!" He snaps, waving the book in A's face. "It's only the best manga ever!"

A shrinks a little.

"I've never even read any manga!" He protests, in his own defense. "How would I know what Akazukin Chacha is?!"

B pouts and mutters a few choice words in Japanese.

" _I can understand you, you know,"_ L scolds, startling B by speaking almost flawless Japanese back to him.

B's cheeks grow warm again, but L leaves his scolding at that.

L grabs a bag of candy from his nightstand drawer and lays out on the floor with his comics. B and A join him, picking out a few of their favorite candies while they become engrossed in their books.

L hums tunelessly, and though his face betrays no emotion, he seems so _happy._ Like nothing in the world made him happier than the simple act of laying on the carpet and reading these silly books. It radiates off of L like sunlight, and it's a reminder that L is young, too.

It wasn't something B really noticed until it was gone, but L always had an air of exhaustion about him. Like everything and everyone was draining the life out of him. But right now, in this moment, he is alive and almost cheerful.

L's hands start to flap eagerly, delighted little sounds bubbling out of his throat- he must've gotten to a good part of the story (L has a lot of odd little mannerisms like that, doesn't he?). It makes B smile, too, knowing L is so happy. Even though none of them say a word- this is fun.

(In fact, B likes things better this way. They don't have to bother with small talk or other silly _normal_ things.)

The clock sounds out the hour three times; by that time, they have a huge stack of read comics on the floor. L's computer beeps at him from across the room; L gets onto his feet and stretches, his back popping rather loudly.

"I guess I should get back to work now," he says, rolling his shoulders with a heavy sigh. "You guys probably have schoolwork to be doing, too."

"We should do this again sometime," A says cheerfully. "It was nice."

L smiles a small fraction.

"I've got all the Sherlock Holmes stories, too. It might be fun for us to read them together," he agrees, chewing on his thumbnail and beaming at the two of them.

B grins right back at him.

"Yeah."

He sees them out the attic door and locks it behind him, getting back to that oh-so-important work that so consumes him.

"Hey- let's do our work up in the clock tower today," A suggests, tugging on B's sleeve. "It's easier to focus up there."

"That's fine with me."

They go to the second floor to gather their books and schoolwork. On their way to the tower, B's ears are assaulted by the screaming of Wammy's House's newest resident.

B can't even comprehend how such a tiny little thing could contain so much _anger._ Or be so _noisy._ It seems like the new kid is always in some sort of trouble- getting into fights, arguing with the caretakers. Knocking holes in walls or raking his nails across his own skin until he was covered in his own blood. Even going into seemingly random fits of insatiable rage where it seemed like nothing would comfort him.

The letters above his head call him _Mihael Keehl, 502209,_ but the caretakers call him Mello.

From the looks of it, the matron has just pried Mello away from another child, kicking and wailing like a fucking _banshee._ His screeching will shatter the stained glass windows if he keeps that up.

(B can't help but think Mello would be cuter if he were quieter.)

"I wonder what's wrong," A mumbles, watching as Mello is half-dragged away, still screeching like he's being murdered.

"Rowan probably just said somethin'he didn't like," B replies curtly.

"That's not what I mean."

B quirks an eyebrow.

A's brow is furrowed (is he worried?)

"It must be hard being so angry all the time. He must be exhausted."

B starts to chew on his index finger while he ponders this.

The resident psychologists at the House talk about Mello incessantly, behind closed doors where they think the kids can't eavesdrop (adults are stupid). They throw around terms like 'Borderline Personality,' 'Bipolar Disorder' or 'Intermittent Explosive Disorder'- occasionally, less-than-professional terms like 'psychopath' enter the conversation.

B always winces in annoyance when he hears adults throw out labels to try to make sense of them like they're a fucking puzzle that has to be solved. Like unraveling children's heads is some sick _game_ they play to pass the time.

Then again, they only really bothered with Mello sofar as they could make him less inconvenient for them for a moment.

A was right, though. Being so full of rage, constantly howling and screaming and carrying on- that _had_ to be exhausting.

(B feels the tiniest twinge of pity for the angry little blond boy.)

A leads the way up the endless staircase to the top of the clock tower. They spread their work out on the floor and settle in for a good while.

"Let's do this hypothetical murder scenario first," A suggests, opening a thick stapled packet. "Scenario: Thirty-year-old woman from Cardiff, found dead in her home with her two children. Recently divorced. She and her children shot in the head. Give your observations based on the evidence disclosed."

B glances over the evidence on the page.

The gun found at the crime scene- no identifiable fingerprints. Blood at the crime scene, but only of the victims. Woman's phone records show calls to various men.

"Doesn't it just seem like her ex-husband went into a rage and killed his family?" B asks.

"Maybe. But what it-"

A looks over the evidence sheet again.

"It says here the husband's own phone records and security footage at his workplace show he was working late at his second job that day."

"Hm..."

"But look at this."

A pulls a paper from the stack.

"Both their records show numerous calls to each other. Sometimes three times in a day. Why would divorced people be talking to each other so much? Maybe-"

B can see the gears working full force in A's head.

"-Maybe she and her husband were getting along better. Maybe he was trying to win her back, and it was working. But what if one of these other men she was seeing got jealous- and _they're_ the one who did it?"

B suddenly feels quite silly for not having thought of this before.

"So we're gonna need to figure out which of these men is most likely to commit a murder."

A nods, and reaches once more into the pile of papers from the case file.

"Well- according to the profiles on page eleven, two of the men have criminal pasts- but one is for embezzlement, and the other-"

"-Domestic battery of his second wife."

B sighs.

"How predictable."

"Huh?"

B scribbles down a few lines in his notebook.

"Grown-ups are always so predictable. It makes things boring."

A's brow knits together, but he doesn't respond to this, focusing instead on his own set of notes.

"We should talk to Professor Byron about it after lecture tomorrow," B offers. "Maybe he can shed some light on things."

"Hm."

A's frown deepens.

"It's still awful, isn't it?" He asks.

"What's awful?"

"Three people are dead, and they don't have to be. No matter who killed them, it's terrible that they had to die."

It's B's turn to furrow his brow.

"I guess so..."

He doesn't say what's going through his head, because he knows A wouldn't believe a word of it. But- if those three were dead, it meant it was their time to die, and there was nothing anyone could have done about it.

Yes, he keeps his silence. Because he knows it's nothing A wants to hear.

* * *

It's six o'clock now- a half hour until dinner. A left the tower to take a bath at about ten to, leaving B to wander the halls with no particular aim in mind, watching the people and their lifespans wander by, going about their business without so much as glancing at him (nobody pays him much mind anymore).

He turns right, into a hallway where he could be alone. He crams his hands into the pockets of his jeans and takes awhile to soak in the quiet.

But then he hears it.

It's heavily muffled- barely there. But he still hears it.

Sobbing.

Small sorrowful sounds that are so pitiful they stir the depths of B's heart. He follows the direction of the sound, drawn to it like a moth to a porch light.

He finds the source of the sound hiding in a funny little alcove at the end of the hall. Face buried in his knees, sleeves damp with tears and body trembling, is little Mihael Keehl 502209.

The boy's head jolts upward when he hears B approach. His pretty blue eyes, red and puffy from crying, glare daggers at his intruder.

"What do _you_ want?!" He demands, in a decidedly less than imposing tone.

"I heard you," B says simply, gnawing on his thumbnail and crouching down to join the boy in his cramped hiding place. "What's wrong?"

"None of your fucking business!" Mello shouts, socking B _hard_ in the shoulder. "Leave me alone!"

B doesn't let the boy know that his blow hurt.

"It doesn't seem like you really want to be alone."

"As if you'd know!"

"Well-" B cocks his head to an awkward angle and leaves it hanging there. "-I saw how desperately you were clinging to L when you were first brought in here. And I know you sleep with that stuffed rabbit he bought you. And it seems to me like you're always trying to get the professor's attention when we go to the same lecture. Maybe I'm crazy, but that isn't the way I'd act if I wanted to be left alone."

"You're you and I'm me!" Mello retorts, this time kicking B's side. "Now piss off and leave me _alone_!"

"You just want someone to understand, don't you?" B asks, still completely unruffled by this brat's abuse.

Mello's little fist pauses halfway through another punch.

Scarlet eyes lock onto blue. B cocks his head in the other direction, seeming to bore down into the blond boy's soul. As he stares into the oceanic depths of those wild eyes, peering at that scowling face, and things make sense.

"You're all alone and you don't want to be," B says plainly, still chewing on his thumbnail. "Everything you know's been taken and your world got torn apart, and you weren't able to do a thing about it. You got hurt badly, and you're frightened. But- you don't want anyone to know you're frightened. So, you get angry instead. If you yell and carry on and walk around with your fists clenched and your fangs bared, nobody can tell you're scared. Isn't that right?"

Mello's eyes go so wide they threaten to pop out of his head. The tremors in his frail body grow so violent he can barely stay upright.

"H-how..."

"I see lots of things adults can't," B answers. "Adults are stupid and they don't want to try to understand," B says. "But I get it. It isn't hard to figure out."

Tiny Mello Mihael 502209 chokes on a breath. Grits his teeth. Then, he hides his face again- this time in the black fabric of his shirt. His pale belly is covered in fading bruises (bruises which were a shocking magenta when he first arrived three weeks ago). A fresh wave of wet sobs wrack his skinny frame.

B feels uncomfortable, and half of him wants to leave. But the other half (the human half, he supposes) doesn't want to leave him to be miserable on his own. So, although he has no means to offer comfort, he stays with the boy. Mihael Keehl 502209 cries until he runs out of tears. Sobs until he runs out of breath. Bites his lip until it bleeds, then does the same with a tiny, delicate hand.

(Everything about Mello is tiny tiny tiny. All except those damned eyes.)

"Why do you do that?" He asks, eyeing the bloody wounds Mello has left all over his hand. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Big blue eyes glare at him.

"Like you'd get it."

"Explain it to me- I might surprise you."

Mello examines the rivulets of crimson that run down his hand- just a momentary distraction.

"I hate being scared," he grumbles, returning at last to that grouchy facade he puts on out in the open. "If I get hurt, then I don't feel scared. I just feel pain."

"And that's better?"

"Yeah."

B mulls over small, fragile Mihael's words, pressing his thumb against the corner of his mouth while he thinks.

Strange, sure. But B is quite familiar with strange.

"I told you you wouldn't get it," Mello grouses, hugging skinny knees against his skinny chest.

"You're right. I don't get it. But you know what?"

B smiles, baring his sharp canine teeth.

"I don't have to."

"Eh?!"

The quizzical expression that crosses that cherubic face is positively adorable.

"I don't _need_ to get it," B elaborates, his neck popping as he rolls it to the side yet again. "You told me the why. That's all I need."

Mello pulls a very unflattering face.

"You're weird."

"Good. Normal people are boring."

Mello snorts, smiling for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived at Wammy's.

A smile suits Mello very well.


End file.
